


No Bullshit

by notyourbro



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourbro/pseuds/notyourbro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is braver than he thought. Josh likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Bullshit

**Author's Note:**

> a quick drabble that got a bit too long. thought i'd throw it up here. 
> 
> for context, this takes places immediately after josh’s month-long observation (as referenced in his medical files). not sure if josh officially drops out of college before this, but u know me. i like fucking with canon.
> 
> WARNING for brief but yucky language re: mental illness

“You’re back.” 

The words fall out of Chris’ mouth with breathless relief, and he’s off the bed in an instant. He reaches Josh before Josh has taken more than a step into their room and wraps him a tight, fierce hug. Josh is still for briefest moment, and then he crumples into Chris the way he always does. 

His arms curl around Chris’ waist, and Chris feels Josh’s clenched fists press into his back. His head fits perfectly in the crook of Chris’ neck, and Chris wants to just stay like this. It hasn’t been that long, in the grand scheme of things, but it feels like forever.

And Chris has so many questions. 

The first one on his mind is, _Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?_ He knows he shouldn’t ask, though, so the first one on his tongue is, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” He asks the question into Josh’s hair, and Josh pulls away slightly.

“Didn’t want you to get excited,” he says with a shrug.

“ _That_ went well, didn’t it?” Chris teases. He’s tempted to kiss Josh’s temple, just by his hairline—softly and quickly enough that they can both pretend it’s nothing. Like they’ve done with so many other nothings. Nerves coil tight in Chris’ stomach, but before he can push them down, Josh moves away in earnest. He nudges Chris backwards and closes the door behind them. 

His eyes dance around the room, and Chris looks at him— _really_ looks at him. Dark bags hang underneath his eyes, and he’s thinner. _Smaller_. The broad, straight line of his shoulders is gone, replaced by a gentle curve, like Josh is curling in on himself. Maybe he is.

Chris pinches Josh’s sleeve between his fingers, and Josh’s gaze lands on him. 

“Dude,” Chris says quietly. 

“I know. Don’t rub it in. I’m fine.” 

“You’re sure?” Chris asks. If he had a penny for every time Josh said _I’m fine_ , he could probably pay off the student debt looming over his head. Josh slurred it that night, after Chris said _hey, man, maybe you should ease up on the drinks a little_. He said it at Hannah and Beth’s funeral, when they buried empty caskets and Chris’ hand didn’t leave Josh’s arm for the entire service. And he said it last month, when Chris woke to Josh’s voice in the middle of the night and whispered into the darkness, _are you okay?_

The next morning, Chris was met with an empty room and a note that said _sorry_. Josh called him from a private number later that afternoon and refused to explain himself. 

He said he was fine. 

It had been a month of quick calls at odd times, and Chris knows what happened. That’s not the information he’s after. What he wants is to know if Josh is okay. He casts Josh a serious look, and Josh withers under his gaze, making himself even smaller. 

“I’m okay for now,” Josh says, “if you don’t want the bullshit.” 

“I don’t want the bullshit,” Chris insists. Josh smiles a little, but something tugs at the corners of his lips. Something sad. Chris has seen it countless times, and he wants to wipe the sadness from Josh’s face and bury it deep in the ground. So far down that by the time it burrows its way back to the surface, he and Josh will have lived long, happy lives. Free from whatever has wormed its way into Josh’s brain and won’t let him go.

“If you _really_ don’t want the bullshit, I’m not here to stay,” Josh admits. “I took a leave of absence.” 

Chris saw that coming, but it makes a knot of his insides anyway. “Okay.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Why are you here then?” 

Josh’s smile is a little wider, a little more real. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Cochise.” 

Chris nods, ducking his head slightly. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck and bites harder on his lip to hide his stupid, selfish smile. This is the last thing he should think about right now, but he can’t help it. He’s never been able to help it. 

“I’m on new meds, too,” Josh continues. He says it quick and confident, but Chris knows it’s a façade. If Josh was _that_ confident—that comfortable talking about these things—Chris might not be the only one who knew. Chris might not know so little.

“That’s great,” Chris says, and means it. 

“You know what else?” 

“What?” 

Josh’s smile is wide now, and Chris thinks he can see the real Josh peeking through the cracks. It’s faint, but it’s there. 

“I’m really fucking hungry.”

***

They make it to the dining hall just before the cooks switch out the breakfast food, and Chris does _not_ complain about an opportunity for second breakfast. He peeks at Josh’s plate as they pick and choose their food, and Josh shoots him a sly, “Chill out, mom. I’ll get enough.”

Chris averts his eyes, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. “Don’t _mom_ me. We all know Sam is the mom friend in this group.” 

Josh slides toward Chris to scoop a pile of scrambled eggs onto his plate, and their arms brush. Goosebumps erupt along Chris’ skin, and Chris jerks away, telling himself he’s only reacting like this because Josh has been gone. He was better before. He was—well, no, he wasn’t over it. For Chris, there was no _getting over it_. There was just getting by.

Josh leans more heavily against Chris as he reaches for a sausage link, and he says, “Maybe, but you’re a close second.” 

Chris grumbles, but he doesn’t say anything more. He keeps his eyes on his own plate, and he avoids Josh’s touch until they’re seated. Until Josh nicks his last piece of bacon. Chris swipes at Josh’s hand, but it’s too late. Josh shoves half the piece in his mouth and takes a satisfying, crunchy bite. Chris nearly whines.

“Josh, _you have your own_ ,” he snaps. He turns hopefully to the food bar behind them, but it’s no use; breakfast is already over. 

Josh shrugs like he hasn’t just committed a friendship-ending offense. “I know, but I wanted yours.”

Chris turns back to Josh, a pout on his lips. “You’re cruel, you know that? Cruel and traitorous.” 

Josh waves Chris’ words away with a flick of his hand and pops the rest of the bacon strip into his mouth. “Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he says through his munching.

Chris is about to complain some more when a voice catches his ear. It’s hushed, but not quiet enough that Chris doesn’t hear it. 

“Yo, is that Washington?” the person asks. Chris doesn’t recognize their voice, but that’s not surprising. UCLA is a _big_ college, and Chris doesn’t know a lot of people. But a lot of people know Josh.

Josh stiffens across the table, pausing mid-chew. Chris reaches over instinctively, and his hand lands on top of Josh’s. He’s too distracted for goosebumps. “Do you want to—?”

“No,” Josh says. “It’s fine. Keep eating.” 

Chris wishes he could block out the conversation behind them, but he can’t. 

“I thought he dropped out,” another unfamiliar voice responds.

“I heard he went fuckin’ crazy when his sisters disappeared—talking to himself and shit.” It’s Person A again. “Totally unstable. I bet he went to a hospital or something.” 

Chris’ blood boils in his ears, and he doesn’t hear what Person B has to say on the matter. He hardly registers Josh’s noise of protest before he’s out of his chair. He swings himself around to face Person A, who Chris has now deemed Jackass.

Jackass is a blonde kid with thick, black-rimmed glasses. His clothes say hipster, but the expensive headphones hanging around his neck say rich, and Chris wants to snap the headphones in half. He sidles up to their table instead, slipping into the empty seat across from Jackass. Chris rests an elbow on the table and cups his chin in his palm. 

“You know what I heard? I heard Josh Washington has a best friend who’ll kick the shit out of anyone who spews bullshit about him.” Chris raises his eyebrows, running his pointer finger in lazy circles on the tabletop. “You hear that one?” 

Jackass flushes. He raises his hands in nervous surrender. “Hey, man, I’m just saying what I’ve been told. Didn’t mean anything by it.” 

“Oh, of course not.” Chris’ voice is so cold, he almost freaks _himself_ out. Almost.

He slides two fingers underneath Jackass’ plate, and with a flick of his wrist, Chris sends Jackass’ breakfast tumbling into his lap. Jackass jumps up, startled—but too slow. He likes ketchup with his eggs, Chris is pleased to see, and a smattering of thick red goop coats the front of his pants and the hem of his shirt. 

“What the fuck?” Jackass turns to Person B, who looks very much like they want to sink underneath the table and out of view. “Did you see that?” he snaps. When Person B’s only response is a useless “Uh,” Jackass scoffs and swivels his head back to Chris. He’s open-mouthed and _angry_ , and Chris hopes to God this kid doesn’t have a lot of friends. 

Chris stands and gives Jackass a casual shrug. “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he says lightly.

Chris catches a dining hall worker heading his way, and he immediately steps away. “I’ll see myself out,” he says to the worker, and then turns back to Josh. Josh stares at him with disbelief and something like wonder, and Chris adds, “You can stay, if you want to finish eating.” 

“Fuck _no_ ,” Josh declares. He rushes to stand, almost knocking over his chair in the process. Josh grabs their plates and hurries to dump their excess food while Chris beelines for the exit. 

Chris bursts through the doors, and the late morning air that hits his face is oppressive. He leans against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. Hot, pulsing fear—or maybe adrenaline—courses through his veins. He feels foolish and brave all at once. 

Josh comes through the doors a moment later, and the first thing he says is, “Oh my God.” 

Chris huffs a nervous laugh. He knows exactly what Josh means. “I know.” 

“Didn’t think you had that shit in you.” 

“Neither did I,” Chris admits. 

They’re silent for a moment, and then Josh steps closer. He leans his shoulder against the wall next to Chris. “Since we’re having a no bullshit day, that was kind of hot.” 

All the breath that Chris has worked to regain is suddenly gone. He makes a strangled noise and manages a feeble protest. “Stop.” 

“I’m serious,” Josh says. His brow furrows. “Why did you do that, though? You don’t need to protect me.” 

“I know,” Chris says again.

“But you did.” Josh’s gaze is fierce and unwavering. It isn’t a question. 

Chris shrugs anyway. He _definitely_ feels more foolish with Josh looking at him like this. “I guess.” 

Josh’s gaze is still razor-sharp, but there’s laughter in his eyes, and then in his mouth. It comes out surprised, and he steps away from the wall to face Chris head-on. “You _guess_.” 

They’re close, _too_ close, and Chris is about to make a joke about it when Josh kisses him. His lips are chapped and he tastes like breakfast foods, but this is happening. In public. In the broad light of day. When both of them are sober. 

This can’t be another nothing. 

Chris feels the sudden need to prove it, and he grabs the front of Josh’s shirt, pulling him closer. Josh bumps him up against the wall, and his tongue flits across Chris’ lower lip. Chris is ready to let him in—has _been_ ready for way too fucking long—but Josh pulls away. 

“Breakfast-flavored kiss,” he says quietly.

Chris’ response is instantaneous. “The best kind of kiss.” _Kiss me again_ , it means. _Kiss me here. Kiss me now._

Josh does, but it’s softer. Less urgent. His hand comes to rest on Chris’ shoulder, and he squeezes. “God, I missed you.” 

Chris’ chest is fit to burst, but he forces himself to talk past it. “I missed you, too.” 

Josh meets his eyes, and he gives Chris a searching look. Something creeps into the edges of his features, and his expression darkens.

Chris nudges him gently. “What?” 

“One of these days, you’ll realize I’m not worth protecting,” Josh says.

Chris doesn’t believe it. Not for a second. “Never.” 

A smile lifts Josh’s lips slightly. “You willing to bank on that?” he asks. 

“One hundred percent,” Chris says. His voice is firm, confident, and Josh’s hands slide down Chris’ chest before falling by his side. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go before that dick comes back to kick your scrawny little ass.” 

Fear blooms anew in Chris’ chest, but it doesn’t bother him much. He’d tip that plate all over again, given the chance. No question. 

They pull themselves off the wall to walk back, and Chris wraps an arm loosely over Josh’s shoulders—still sagging, but a little straighter than they were before. Or maybe that’s just Chris’ imagination. Josh hums contentedly and leans into Chris’ touch. 

“I love you, you know.” 

Chris turns his head and kisses Josh’s temple, just by the hairline. “No bullshit?” he asks. He already knows the answer, but Josh indulges him anyway. 

“No bullshit.”


End file.
